


Persuade Me

by Nevanna



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Backupsmore University, Consensual Mind Control, Consent Issues, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevanna/pseuds/Nevanna
Summary: Stanford asks Fiddleford to help him with a new experiment.





	Persuade Me

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place before the start of the series, but requires canon knowledge through 2.14, "The Stanchurian Candidate."

“I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me test one of my experiments,” Stanford said, closing the door behind him. 

Fiddleford set down his stack of calculations. “If I check these here equations one more time, they’ll stage a mutiny,” he said. “What are you working on?”

“Does the phrase ‘political persuasion’ mean anything to you?”

“Are we talking about propaganda?” Fiddleford asked. “Posters and TV ads and the like?”

“I suspect that most of my classmates will take the assignment in that direction,” Stanford replied. “However, I decided to try something a little bit more… direct.” He opened his desk drawer and removed two red and blue striped neckties. “I’ve only tested these devices on animal subjects, but, of course, the cooperation of a human being would be ideal.”

Fiddleford had never met anyone whose mind moved this much faster than his, but Stanford’s mind seemed to move faster than most people’s. It made him exciting company, sometimes frighteningly so. Still, not for the first time, Fiddleford suspected that he was missing something, and said so.

Stanford handed him one of the ties. The fabric felt strangely warm. “Look at the lining,” he instructed.

Fiddleford did. The underside of the fabric was overlaid with a network of spiderweb-thin wires and almost microscopic blinking lights. “Well, call me a swooning swine,” he said. “This is extraordinary. What is it – some kind of two-way communication device?”

Stanford chuckled. “An excellent guess. In fact, the circuitry allows one wearer to control the other’s movements and speech.”

Fiddleford’s grip tightened. “You ain’t joking, are you?”

“Put it on, and we’ll see about that.”

“You looking to make a puppet of me, Stanford?”

“Actually,” Stanford clarified, “the one that you’re holding would allow _you_ to control _me_. But I think that I could obtain valuable data either way.”

Fiddleford’s knee was bouncing again. “I think you could obtain the _most_ valuable data if we take turns.” 

\--

Fiddleford raised his left hand and wiggled the fingers. His friend did the same.

“This is… fascinating,” Stanford said, forming the words slowly and deliberately. “It appears that I still have some control over my speech, unless you’re consciously directing me _you mean like this?_ ” The words fell from his mouth and Fiddleford’s at the same time, and they both grinned.

He shook Stanford’s head from side to side, walked him around the room in a circle, and directed him to say, _“My name is Stanford Pines, and my project is the most brilliant one in the class,”_ causing Stanford’s ears to turn red. “I deliberately designed the control mechanism to bypass involuntary functions,” he explained. “Breathing, blinking, the flow of blood, and so on. That, at least, appears to be working.” His eyes were bright with excitement, and he pressed his arms to his sides. “I’m going to try and lift my hands again, and I want you to try to stop me.”

Trying to stop him was like arm wrestling, which they’d done a few times. Fiddleford wondered what Stanford was thinking at the moment, watching his body move without his prompting. Did he feel constrained, or was it freeing, to put himself in someone else’s hands like this?

“Are you ready to switch?” Stanford asked.

Fiddleford knew that there was only one way to answer his own questions. “Yes.”

\--

“You can tell me ‘Stop’ at any time,” Stanford said as Fiddleford fastened the other tie around his neck.

Maybe it was just a fancy, but he thought he felt an electric tingle just inside his head, like the machinery of his brain was linking with the circuitry. He imagined Stanford’s amazing hands reaching through his skull, holding its contents carefully, and the thought made him shiver, not unpleasantly.

 _“My name is Fiddleford McGucket,”_ he heard himself say, _“and Stanford is lucky to have me as a friend.”_ Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. He watched his hands rise up in front of his face, like they didn’t even belong to him.

Stanford walked him backwards toward the door, then held him still, while Fiddleford tried to lift his hands again, then tried to move his feet, and felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. The sensation was unsettling, but he didn’t put a stop to it. Stanford was looking at him with a focus that he usually reserved for his books and lab reports, or for late nights when they were talking about their projects and plans for the future. Not only was this stare a hundred times more intense, but there was something else behind that intensity: a sense of awe at the possibilities that their experiment was opening up.

He seemed to realize, as he might not have realized before, how much power he had at that moment. Under his control, Fiddleford could have cursed his mother’s name, licked Stanford’s boots, thrown himself out the nearest window.

Yet they both had to trust that he _wouldn’t_ , and that trust filled Fiddleford with both a sense of vulnerability and an almost inexplicable feeling of safety. And it wasn’t fear that made him gradually more lightheaded.

He suddenly felt a different sensation altogether. A quick look down at the front of his pants showed him that Stanford had been right. The flow of blood really was involuntary.

“I…” His voice came out as a croak.

Their gazes were still locked as Stanford’s hand moved slowly toward the waistband of his own trousers. Every second was another chance for Fiddleford to tell him to stop.

But Fiddleford didn’t. “I want this,” he said instead, and didn’t think about how those words had ended up in his mouth.

\--

Afterward, his mind still humming happily, Fiddleford felt Stanford’s arm around his shoulders, felt one six-fingered hand gently loosening and removing the tie. It was the first time they’d touched each other since they began the experiment.

Fiddleford had known that it hadn’t _really_ been Stanford’s hand on him, stroking and squeezing and releasing, sending him toward and then over the edge, but the motions _had_ been Stanford’s, and the pleasure had belonged to them both.

“Did you get the results you were looking for?” Fiddleford asked once he’d caught his breath and made sure he could walk without falling over. He wasn’t quite ready to think about what, if anything, their diversion had to do with “political persuasion.”

“I’ll have to compile all of the data,” Stanford replied, smiling faintly. “But I think that I have everything I need.”


End file.
